Chapter 17

I hopped in the Jeep, and we raced toward town. The doctor’s office was near a touristy area downtown, where traffic crawled. Stevie growled, took loud breaths, and eventually found a place to park.

We went inside. She chatted with the secretary, and I filled in a new-patient form. The place was clean, its rustic décor in keeping with the rest of the area. No other patients waited.

“You can come in now,” the secretary told me. “Stevie, do you want to come back here, too? I’m sure Dr. Wallo would enjoy seeing you.”

“I’d planned to do some paperwork,” she said.

“Come with me,” I urged, not telling my motive. “We probably won’t be long, and you don’t have time to get started with all those papers.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing him.”

We went to the rear. A nurse met us, told Stevie hi, and asked me to step on a scale.

“I don’t think I have to.” I backed from it. “I’m only here about pain in my legs. Nobody has to know my weight to treat that.”

The nurse’s lips thinned. She remained near the scale.

I set down my purse and took off my shoes. If I wore a watch, I would have removed that, too. I stepped on the scale and stared at the paisley-printed wallpaper. Maybe they needed to know my current weight. I did not.

“Pretty good for a woman your age,” the nurse said and wrote on her folder.

“Really?” I stepped down, loving the part about a good weight. Not so thrilled about for a woman your age.

“Yeah, Cealie’s always been in great shape,” Stevie told her.

Me? My cousin was saying this about me? The nurse measured my height, and I knew I was standing much taller than my five feet two.

The nurse led us into a room. “You can remove your clothes and slip on this paper gown,” she told me. “Then sit up here.” She pointed to the paper-covered bed.

“I won’t need all my clothes off. I’m only here to see about my shins.”

“That’s up to you. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

I sat on a chair next to Stevie. She frowned at me like I had done something wrong. I imagined she was still mad at me for ruining her “life pillar.”

The nurse went out. Quiet minutes passed. The urge came to ask Stevie what her doctor wallowed in, but I kept my thoughts in tow.

Until the nurse returned, followed by Dr. Wallo.

Yummy hit my brain and almost came out my mouth.

Distinguished. Oozing sex appeal, the man stood about six four. His eyes were the softest blue I’d ever seen. His black hair was threaded with gray, pure white at the temples.

“This is my cousin,” Stevie said after she and the doctor greeted each other. Old friends. Patient and doctor—who had seen all of her body? Why hadn’t I hopped up there on that paper sheet and stripped all my clothes off, as the nurse had told me? Maybe I could do it now.

I smiled at Dr. Wallo, my smile fading as I considered the cellulite and drooping body parts he’d see if I took off my clothes. It was bad enough that nothing would hide the wrinkles on my face or neck. They weren’t all that bad, but at the moment I wanted to look especially good. Ugh, and was I growing a mustache?

Dr. Wallo scanned the papers I’d completed. “Mrs. Gunther, I’m Dr. Wallo. I see that your shins are giving you trouble?”

“Not much,” I blurted. Then Stevie shot me mean eyes. “Yes,” I amended, “they have been bothering me. Sometimes I have a bit of pain across here.” I was wearing slacks, so I pulled both pant legs up to my knees. I was also wearing knee-highs. Cute.

I rolled them down to my ankles. What a pretty sight for him—a stocking roll above my shoes now and indentations under my knees. Any attractiveness my legs might have had was destroyed.

“When did this pain start?” he asked, checking my legs.

“When I tripped over something.”

“What did you trip over?”

I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to tell him.

“It was a person,” Stevie said. “A man died in my yard. Cealie fell over him,” she said with vehemence, as though I’d chosen to do it.

He looked at me. “Is she kidding?”

I shook my head. “The police are investigating what happened. But ever since I fell, I’ve felt pain across here.” I rubbed my shins. “Well, almost all the time.”

He knelt in front of me. Inspected and pressed on my legs. “Does this hurt?”

I shook my head. He touched more places. I didn’t want him to know how his hand on my legs was affecting me. I jammed my lips into a grin, shook my head that it didn’t hurt, and enjoyed the feel. There was a time when a man’s hands on my skin a common occurrence, but since I’d reached a certain age, that time had passed. And my husband died, and I no longer let Gil keep his hands on me…probably.

This hunky man pressed on my calves and my knees and then above them.

My smile widened.

“Cealie!” My cousin’s tone said I’d done something wrong.

Maybe she wouldn’t appreciate a man’s hands roaming her skin. I loved it.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said. “You might have some bruising inside. It could take a few weeks to totally heal. I could prescribe something for pain if you think it’s bad enough.”

“Oh no. I don’t take medicine unless I absolutely need it.” And your hand rubbing my legs was great medicine.

I gave myself a mental head slap. Bad girl, Cealie.

“Good, but in case it persists or gets worse, let me know and we’ll x-ray,” he said.

Stevie stood up to leave. I didn’t.

“Doc,” I said, “I’m worried about Stevie.” As I expected, Stevie’s head whipped toward me. Her jaw fell open. “She’s been really tense, and she’s getting short of breath.”

“I am not!” she snapped, her shoulders drawn up near her neck, her eyes wide at me. Her breathing appeared scant.

Dr. Wallo watched her, looking concerned. He lifted his stethoscope, pointing to her chest. “May I, Stevie?”

She glared at me, huffed, and nodded.

The doctor listened to her chest. He asked questions, and listened to her back. “Aren’t you a smoker?”

“Not anymore.”

“Good for you.”

“It’s only been for a few days,” I interjected, and my cousin narrowed her eyes at me. “I’m really proud of her for quitting and hope she never sticks one of those deadly things in her mouth again. But I thought you should know, Doc.”

“Maybe there are things about you I think he should know,” Stevie said, “but I don’t go around blabbing all of your business.”

The doctor grinned, seeming to enjoy our exchange. He spoke to Stevie, “We could do an EKG.”

“No way. Not because she thinks I have a problem.”

The doctor nodded. “Maybe your increased tension and difference in breathing both come from giving up smoking. It’s great that you quit, but maybe you could use a little help that might take the edge off and help you to stay quit.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want any pills. I’ve tried them. They didn’t help.”

“Sometimes it takes more than one try, just like trying to quit smoking,” he said.

“And this time I’m here with you,” I told her.

With a loud exhale, Stevie opened her hand. “All right, I’ll try them again.”

I didn’t look at her. If we made eye contact, I might have grinned. Then she probably would have told him to keep the blasted things.

“Another thing that would help,” he said, “is exercise. Even walking a few times a week would help with stress and weight control.”

She didn’t comment. As we all made our good-bye exchanges, the doctor’s stomach growled.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was too busy for lunch. I need dinner.”

“Me, too,” Stevie said. “I thought we’d go back to that Cajun restaurant this evening.”

My hearing antennae came to life.

“I figured I’d go there now. You were my last patient,” Dr. Wallo told me.

“I’m starving,” Stevie said. “Going there now sounds great to me.”

“Maybe we’ll see you and your wife at Cajun Delights,” I said.

His face lengthened. “She and I aren’t together anymore.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

I took a final look at the eye-candy doctor, and we left. “If you’re going to that restaurant, please bring me home first. I’m not hungry,” I told Stevie. I also didn’t want to see Gil if he was there. He was too tempting. She didn’t need to know that.

“I’m tense?” she said, ignoring my statement. “Since when did you think I’m tense?” Her pitch screeched extra high.

“Ever since—”

“And you think I’m short of breath? Maybe you should listen to yourself.”

I didn’t need this discussion. She was making up things to get back at me for telling the doctor about her. Keeping my mouth shut, I focused on the street. I had no idea where she’d bring me.

After a short drive, she turned into a small shopping center. She parked near a drugstore, gave me a pointed glance, and grabbed Dr. Wallo’s prescription sheet off the seat. She held it up so I’d see it, as if she were shouting, You did this to me. She went into the store.

I stayed in the car. With the tension removed, I could think. The problem with my legs was probably psychosomatic. My mind created the ache in my shins, so changing my thoughts should delete the ache.

Fine. I could do that.

I considered Pierce Trottier. I definitely needed to do everything I could to hasten my departure. My cousin and I didn’t need to stay together much longer. I considered her hair, rich chocolate brown way back when, and always short and stylish. Long, drab gray, and thin now. If I had to stay near her much longer, I’d surely yank it like she used to do mine.

She walked out of the store carrying a medium bag and thrust it on the seat. “I’ll come back for my meds later. I bought paper plates.” She raised her eyebrows at me.

“Paper plates are nice to have. You do remember that I bought you some.”

“I remember everything,” she snapped. “And I don’t usually have paper plates, but now my stove is broken.” She shoved the bag closer to me. “So you can heat yourself something from the fridge in the microwave. I’ll be going to that Cajun restaurant.”

Oops, I saw her point. I’d made her get the meds for her tension. And I’d ruined her stove, which the silly woman liked to cook on. Darn, I’d also kicked away one of three of her life pillars. Not a good thing.

I crossed my arms. “I’ll replace your stove.”

She turned her nose up and cranked the motor.

I couldn’t ignore the frigid feel in her car. I dreaded getting more of that feeling in her home. As soon as Stevie dropped me off, I’d try to discover how to contact that final person in The Quitters Group. Maybe she was the killer. That would be perfect. Then I could let the police know, and they’d let me leave town. I imagined Acapulco’s palm trees swaying. I’d contact the Royal Acapulco, where I was scheduled to be staying right now. I would get a suite and spend an extra week or two luxuriating in tropical breezes.

First, I needed to locate another person. “Would you happen to know where Jenna Griggs lives?” I asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondered.”

She glared at me a moment longer and then sped on. Maybe she had a folder out at the house with contact info for her stop-smoking group members.

Stevie dumped me in front of her house. She slowed barely long enough for me to slide out before she rolled off.

Fine. I didn’t want to be with her anyway. I certainly didn’t want to hold a conversation. Blame, blame, blame, that’s all she did to me.

I trotted up to the porch, pulled out my key, and aimed it at the door’s keyhole, turning the knob a pinch. The door opened.

Stevie might have forgotten to lock this door. She’d been angry at me before we left her house. But she hadn’t come to the front.

I stood on the porch, shrugging off the sprinkle of apprehension that crossed my shoulders, and shoved on the door. I wanted to freshen up and have time alone to clear my thoughts. I stepped through the doorway.

Noise in the house froze me in place.

I swallowed. Listened. Maybe her house was settling.

The noise repeated. Someone walking in a room? Or shutting a closet door?

Da-dunt,, da-dunt, da-dunt, played in my purse.

I jumped back, reached in my purse, and opened my phone to make it stop ringing. I shut the door quietly, scooted to my car, and drove off.

Who was in that house? Should I call the police?

Second thoughts made me decide not to. That noise inside Stevie’s house could have been a person walking or rummaging, but people’s houses had different sounds. Maybe I’d heard her refrigerator dumping ice. Or her air conditioner’s compressor.

Stevie could tell me if her house made sounds I hadn’t noticed before. I knew where she was going. I could phone her at Cajun Delights and ask.

Yeah, right. She’d probably hang up on me.

I didn’t know what caused the noises but I wouldn’t return there alone. It was getting dark. She hadn’t left lights on inside when we’d left her house.

When I had to pause for a red light three blocks away, I remembered to check for the missed phone call. It was my Austin office. I pressed its number.

“Oh, Cealie, they love what you came up with for Just Like Home hotels,” Brianna said, voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

“Good.”

“It is a large account, you know.” She seemed to want enthusiasm from me.

Now wasn’t the time. “I know, and I’m glad. I’m just a little busy.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Call anytime. I’m really glad they like it.”

“Me, too. I’ll let you get back to whatever you’re doing. ’Bye now.”

“’Bye.” What I needed to do was locate Jenna Griggs. Maybe the phone book I’d looked in at the gas station was old, or Jenna would be listed in a different one. She could be married. I was no expert at detecting but had to try something.

I pressed 0 on my cell phone and asked about a listing for her name.

As I expected, there was no Jenna Griggs.

“But,” the operator said, “I do have a listing for J. P. Griggs. Do you want that?”

“Sure. Oh wait. To make certain, what’s that address?”

“Two-forty-three Hill’s End Road.”

“That’s it. Thanks,” I said and listened to the phone number. I sure hoped that when I arrived, J.P. would be the woman I was after.